


with teeth we've come this far

by notcaycepollard



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, Sparring as foreplay, and the soldiers who would do anything for them, i am in rarepair hell, mentioned misogynistic comments, powerful rebel leader women in white dresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well then," she says. "<em>Mothma</em>. What do you want with a rebel who's good at knowing how to take a punch and not so good with following any kind of military discipline?"</p><p>"Teach me," Mothma says, "how to fight like you fight," and Jyn looks her up and down, takes in the white robe, the set of her shoulders, her clear blue eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with teeth we've come this far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nehirose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nehirose/gifts).



She doesn't start the first fight.

But she throws the first punch, and she's the last one standing, and she knows that's probably enough that she'll be the one in the firing line when it comes time for discipline.

She's not wrong. A fortnight of latrine duty, and a black mark on her service record, and a look in her sergeant's eyes like it's no more than he expected of her. Petty thief and common criminal Jyn Erso, more trouble in the Alliance ranks than she's worth. Jyn squares her jaw, tries not to let it sting.

Jyn's still in Zab Rubin's office, maintaining a bored expression and pushing at her split lip with her tongue as he yells at her about the honor of the Alliance and what it means to have _military_   _discipline_ , when there's a knock at the door. A small woman all in white, dark red hair cropped short, and a jawline that Jyn thinks is more gorgeous than it has any right to be. Rubin stands to attention, frowns at Jyn.

" _Respect_ , soldier," he snaps, and Jyn straightens her shoulders, pulls herself to attention as best she can with her hands still cuffed in front of her.

"A word, Sergeant Rubin," the woman says, looks at Jyn meaningfully. "If you wouldn't mind waiting outside?" and Rubin nods briskly.

"Ma'am," he says, closes the door behind him. There's a brief silence. The... commander? doesn't seem military, but the way she considers Jyn, looks at her so evaluating, she's got an unmistakable air of authority.

"Mon Mothma," she says eventually. "Leader of High Command, for lack of anyone else in charge. That looks like it hurts."

"I've had worse," Jyn shrugs, even though her lip stings every time she speaks. "What can I do for you, Commander Mothma?"

"Just Mothma," she says, "Mon's a family name, and I don't have military rank. At ease, soldier." Jyn slumps back against the wall, rolls out her shoulders, looks down at her handcuffs. Chews her lip without thinking, and winces at the pain.

"Well then," she says. " _Mothma_. What do you want with a rebel who's good at knowing how to take a punch and not so good with following any kind of military discipline?"

"Teach me," Mothma says, "how to fight like you fight," and Jyn looks her up and down, takes in the white robe, the set of her shoulders, her clear blue eyes.

"You'll need to change your clothes," she says, for lack of anything else, and Mothma nods.

"That can be arranged, soldier," she says, crisp and final. "Tomorrow, then. Oh-eight-hundred. Don't be late." And when she leaves, she orders Rubin to unlock the cuffs.

 

Jyn's not late. She bolts her breakfast, gulps down caf while it's still scalding, gets to the training room just in time. Mothma's already there, looking younger than she does in her robes. Tight dark leggings, a simple tunic, wrapping cloth bindings around her knuckles. When Jyn gets closer, she sees Mothma's got a sheen of sweat on her forehead like she's already been here for hours.

Maybe she has been. Jyn doesn't know what a leader in Rebel Command does with their day. She'd expected it to be more politics, less sparring lessons with a rogue recruit, but if Mothma wants to learn, Jyn's happy enough to teach her.

"Recruit Erso," Mothma says when she sees her. "You're on time."

"You told me to be," Jyn counters, shrugs out of her jacket. "I do follow orders occasionally. So, ma'am, are we going to do this?"

"Mothma," the redhead says. "Like I said, Erso. Just Mothma."

"Then it's just  _Jyn_ , ma'am," Jyn replies, and Mothma tilts her head, gives Jyn another one of those looks like she's evaluating Jyn right down to her bones.

"Jyn, then. Shall we begin?"

"Hmm," Jyn says, and once they're on the mats, Mothma stretching in a way that Jyn finds more distracting than she should, Jyn takes a long, deep breath. Mothma's shorter than she realized, smaller than Jyn by almost a head. Clearly muscled shoulders, like she's used to hard work. It's... unexpected, Jyn thinks, and she's  _fucking beautiful_. She blinks, ignores that thought. Takes another deep breath.

"Where do you want to start?" Mothma asks, and Jyn grins.

"Show me," she says, "what you know," and throws the first hit, easy and obvious and hopefully slow enough for Mothma to block.

She knows more than Jyn's expecting, it turns out. Knows enough to grab Jyn's wrist, pull her in and then back out in a movement as fluid as a dance step, and then she spins, lands a kick on Jyn's hip. 

"You've been training with sparring droids, right?" Jyn asks, and Mothma nods, dances light on her feet, pulls her fists up to her chin. "Yeah, I can tell, you- you're not bad, for a beginner, but I'm assuming you want to train with me because I'm a real person?"

"I want to train with you," Mothma says, feints left and then darts in, grabs Jyn by the front of her shirt and pulls her close, "because you  _fight dirty_."

"I-" Jyn starts, blinks, drops her body weight and breaks the hold. "What?"

"I've seen the holos. Security feeds. If someone's trying to kill me, Erso, they're not going to fight like they've learned it from a  _droid_. You're not doing this like it's a neat little match. You fight with teeth and nails, everything you've got, and that's what I need to learn."

"Well then," Jyn breathes, grins sharp and hard. "Let's get started, Commander Mothma."

 

"You know I'm not a Commander," Mothma says a month later, bending to rest her elbows on her knees. They've been sparring for nearly an hour, and Mothma's hardly out of breath. Jyn is reluctantly impressed. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"You might not be military," Jyn tells her, "but if you think you're not in command, of me, of  _all_ of this, you're lying to yourself." She drinks from her water bottle, passes it to Mothma, adjusts her own wrist wraps. "Plus," she adds, "I like how infuriated you look every time I call you by the wrong rank."

"You're the worst, Erso," Mothma says, fond like Jyn is her _friend._ Jyn doesn't have friends. She has comrades, recruits she shares barracks and mess and training with, and she has superior officers, and before she joined the Rebellion, she had fellow thieves she didn't trust a little less than the ones she actively expected to double-cross her. Perhaps Mothma is her first friend. Perhaps Jyn's getting soft. "I'm going to kick your ass and make you take it back."

"Try me," Jyn teases, and Mothma drops the bottle, knocks Jyn down onto the mats so fast Jyn's impressed again.

Mothma doesn't kick her ass. Jyn presses her palms into the mats, waits for Mothma to get overconfident and loosen her hold, and as soon as she feels the shift in weight, she rolls out from underneath, pulls Mothma overbalanced into a throw that slams her down. Pins her, thighs burning with the stretch, her fingers hot on Mothma's throat and Mothma's wrist held tight under her knee. Mothma blinks, her pupils dilating, and Jyn tightens her hold on her throat, thinks about sliding her hand down to Mothma's collarbone, how her skin is hot and slick with sweat.

"Your move, Commander," she says instead, rolls away. "Need a breather?"

"No," Mothma says, "I need-" and pushes herself to her feet, throws herself at Jyn for another attempt.

 

"Why are you doing this?" Jyn dares to ask one morning. "Why learn to fight? You're one of the most important people to the Alliance, Mothma, why learn this like you'll have to fight with your own hands someday?" Mothma gives her a long look before she sits up, pushes a sweat-damp strand of hair back from her forehead.

"You know I'm still a Senator," she says. "The Imperial Senate, it's not like it used to be. It... it doesn't feel safe, when I'm on Coruscant. I'm not  _afraid_ , it's just..."

"But you must have an honor guard, or something. A security detail assigned to protect you."

"I do," Mothma acknowledges. "I could. If I wanted one. Before I was a Senator, I was a princess. Minor Chandrilan royalty, nothing more. Not like Leia Organa, I was never going to inherit the crown, but it was enough to keep me protected regardless. Restricted to palace grounds, unless I had my honor guard accompanying me. Do you know what it feels like, having people trail you everywhere you go? Knowing the only place you can be alone is within the walls of your own garden?"

"Like you're a prisoner," Jyn guesses. Mothma nods, and Jyn fidgets with a loose thread on her wrist wraps, pulls it free and twists it tight around the tip of one finger. "So learning to fight like this, learning to protect yourself, it's... you want freedom?"

"Yes, Jyn," Mothma says, and wraps her arms around her shins, rests her chin on her knees. "Yes. I want freedom."

 _Me too_ , Jyn thinks, and lowers her head, looks up at Mothma through her eyelashes. Considers the curve of her cheek, the delicate arch of her brows.  _Me too_.

 

"You got into another fight in your barracks, I heard," Mothma says when they're done one morning, lying flat on their backs on the mats. Jyn nods, turns her head sideways to look at Mothma.

"Yeah," she agrees, her voice a little breathless still. Mothma's getting better, and she's learning to throw Jyn, using her center of gravity against her. Jyn's smacked into the mats more times than she can count this morning, her breath huffing out of her every time. She rolls into it, pins Mothma right back, and now that there's room for Jyn to think about it, she wonders if the flash in Mothma's eyes every time Jyn had gotten her down, forearm pressed over her throat, was frustration with losing the bout, or something more.

"Fifth time in six months, I heard. I guess you're going to tell me it wasn't your fault," Mothma sighs, "or that you didn't start it," and reaches out, touches fingertips to Jyn's swollen cheekbone, the bruises around her eye. She's careful, gentle, but it still hurts. Jyn doesn't mind. Mothma could press harder, and Jyn still wouldn't mind. Not when her fingers are this tender.

"No," she laughs, "this time I did start it, actually." The recruit in bunk three had started it, really. Talking about Leia Organa like she's something to be  _had_ , and Jyn had thrown her cards down, hit him in the mouth. Dared him to say it again.

 _Leia Organa's a pretty little showpiece_ , he'd sneered, his mouth dripping blood.  _A_ _teenage doll dressed up like a soldier, you think she'd ever fight for us? She's nothing but a figurehead princess_ , and Jyn had punched him in the throat hard enough she'd fractured his larynx. Another black mark on her service record, except that Sergeant Dameron had muttered something about the fight into Zab Rubin's ear, and his eyes had widened before he'd wiped the charge.

"Why do you do it, Jyn?" Mothma asks, and she doesn't sound angry, or frustrated, or condescending. Just curious, and a little tired.

"It's a rebellion," Jyn says, curls her lip into a smirk. "I _rebel_ ," and Mothma stares at her for a moment before she laughs and laughs, laughs until she's wiping tears from her eyes.

"You rebel," she murmurs, runs her hand through her hair. "I suppose we all do, don't we."

"It's like this," Jyn tells her after a minute. Rolls onto her side, pillows her cheek on one hand. "I was fifteen when my mother died. Being on your own, having nothing... after a while, you think, if you do it first, if you throw that first hit or start the fight or push the line, at least it's not a surprise when you get hurt. When they walk away." She bites her lip, blinks a couple of times, looks cautiously at Mothma. "I mean, it sounds stupid, it's just..."

"Jyn," Mothma whispers, and she rolls onto her side too, leans in until the tip of her nose is brushing Jyn's. Her eyes are wide, fringed with dark lashes, and up this close, they're very, very blue. Jyn feels, a little, like she's falling into the sky. "It's not stupid."

"Okay," Jyn says. "What is it, then?"

"Protection," Mothma says, and kisses her. Her lips are soft and dry, gentle against Jyn's mouth, and Jyn freezes for a few seconds, feels Mothma begin to pull away.

"Oh-" she whispers, and pulls her back, tangles her fingers into Mothma's hair, kisses her hard. Rolls her back onto her back, gets her pinned like they're sparring, and Mothma bites at her lip, presses strong fingers to Jyn's jaw. There are bruises, there, and Jyn hisses at the pain, but Mothma doesn't let go, just kisses harder, arches her hips up against Jyn's, uses her body weight to flip Jyn just like they've been practising. Gets her knee in between Jyn's thighs, smirks when Jyn grinds down against it.

"Erso," she whispers, "you  _do_ rebel, don't you," and then her wrist comlink beeps, and she's rolling to her feet in one smooth movement before Jyn can hold her down.

"You  _cannot_ be serious," Jyn complains, and Mothma straightens her clothes, rubs the pad of her thumb over her bottom lip.

"Sorry," she says. "I  _am_ the leader of the Alliance. I'd better go. I'll see you next time. And Jyn?"

" _What_ ," Jyn snaps, still on the floor. Mothma smiles down at her.

"No more getting into fights, soldier. I can't always get you out of trouble."

"No promises," Jyn says, and Mothma bends down, cups her cheek, kisses her light and quick and easy.

"But I  _want_ a promise," she whispers against Jyn's mouth, and then she's gone. Jyn falls back onto her back, stretches her arms out above her head. Lets out a long breath, and stares into space until her heart slows down.

 

Jyn doesn't know what she expects to happen next. It's not that she's never been in a relationship before, it's just that she's never been in a relationship with the _leader of the entire Rebel Alliance._ Perhaps Mothma doesn't even want a relationship. Perhaps Mothma didn't mean to kiss her, or regrets it, or realized the vastness of difference between them in rank and power and influence. It's just, Jyn knows what she is.

"You're avoiding me," Mothma says three days later, materializing behind Jyn during weapons training. "Why are you avoiding me."

"I'm not," Jyn says, automatic. Aims her blaster and fires. It hits a few inches to the left of dead center, and Jyn frowns, holds herself steady and fires again. Mothma touches her shoulder just as she pulls the trigger, and the shot goes wide, missing the target by an arm's width. "Kriff," she sighs, lays the blaster down, turns around. "I'm not," she says again, and Mothma goes still, catches her lip with her teeth.

"If you're not," she says, "then where were you this morning? Why haven't I seen you?"

"You're busy," Jyn tells her, "you're, you, you've got a rebellion to run, Mothma, and I'm a soldier with orders and a command chain, and I..."

"You're not interested," Mothma says. "I get it. I'm sorry, Erso, I'll-" Her face falls, and she turns to leave, and Jyn can't stand it, catches Mothma's hand and pulls her back.

"I  _am_ interested," she says, "I promise, Mothma, I swear, I just... I was afraid."

"You've never been afraid of anything in your life," Mothma says, lifts her face up to look searchingly at Jyn.

"No, I was," Jyn admits. "Afraid you'd change your mind."

"Oh, Jyn," Mothma sighs, breathless and tender. "You don't have to protect yourself against me."

"I know," Jyn says, "and- I promise, if you want me to."

Mothma's smile is very wide, and Jyn wonders, dizzy and heart pounding, if this is what it's like to have caught the sky. 

 

The first time they sleep together, it's mostly by accident.

Jyn's in the mess, sipping a mug of caf and reading a holo, enjoying the first rest day she's had in weeks, when Kes Dameron slides into the seat next to her, taps her on the shoulder.

"You're wanted in the training room five minutes ago, Erso," he tells her, and she pushes back in her chair, gapes at him a little slack-jawed.

"The training- it's gone ten, Sergeant, and it's a rest day, what-"

"Hey," he says, "don't ask me, it's orders from up top. Better scram." She gets to her feet, and he steals her caf, grins at her when she flips a rude gesture. "Just how I like it," he calls as she's leaving, "remember that for next time, Erso."

"Never making you caf, Dameron," she calls back, and breaks into a jog, makes it to the training room in record time. She's not even in sparring gear.

"What kept you," Mothma says as soon as she arrives, and Jyn pauses, looks at her carefully. Mothma's hair is tousled, and she's breathing hard as if she's been fighting already for hours. Jyn steps closer, reaches for Mothma's hand, notices the knuckles grazed raw.

"Mothma," she says, and the other woman jerks away, throws a punch that Jyn blocks automatically. "Mothma, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Mothma says, "nothing's- I just need, I need to  _fight_ , Jyn, come on, please, fight me already, I-"

"Okay," Jyn says carefully, "okay, just give me a minute, okay?" Something is terribly wrong, she can feel it, can see the tension radiating off Mothma in waves. Her face is pale and her jaw is tight, eyes red-rimmed, and Jyn doesn't know what's happened but if what Mothma needs is to fight, she'll work with her. She shucks off her jacket, throws it to the side, falls into position. "Okay," she says, "take me down, Commander," and Mothma flings herself at her, fights harder and faster than Jyn's ever known. Mothma's punches land and land again, and Jyn rolls into the fall, back up, hits and blocks and takes another hit, and another, and then Mothma gets her in the mouth, a punch Jyn doesn't even see coming.

"Fuck," Jyn hisses, touches her lip, and her fingertips come away bloody. Mothma's frozen, eyes wide, face bloodless and shocked, and Jyn shrugs her shoulders, licks her lip. "I'm fine," she says, "Mothma, I'm fine, it's  _fine_ , you think I haven't taken worse hits than that and walked away from it?" and Mothma grabs her shirt, clenches her hand into a fist, drags Jyn in.

"Sorry," she whispers, "sorry, sorry, Jyn,  _gods_ , I'm sorry," and pulls her into a kiss that stings sharp and bright.

"Seriously," Jyn insists, "I'm okay, it's  _okay_ , Mothma, what's going on?" and Mothma makes a desperate noise in the back of her throat, slams her mouth back on Jyn's so hard she thinks it might bruise.

"I want," she says, "Jyn, I want, I- gods,  _fuck_ , I want," and she's backing Jyn up against the wall, pushing up against her, hands in Jyn's clothing and her mouth on Jyn's throat, sucking a mark that will last, livid, for days.

"Hey," Jyn says, "hey, we can- Mothma,  _stars_ , we can, you can have whatever you want," and picks Mothma up, turns so she's pressed between Jyn and the wall. She's all teeth and nails, and Jyn thinks she might not come out of this without permanent scars, and that's fine, that's  _fucking great_ , but Jyn suddenly realizes they're in a mostly-public space, and the relationship between the two of them, it's operated so far at an entirely unofficial level. "Commander," she gets out, "your quarters, you want to take me there?"

"Your bunk," Mothma suggests, and Jyn groans a little.

"I share a barracks with  _fifty other soldiers_ , Mothma, believe me, your quarters are the better option here," and that has Mothma laughing even though she still sounds wrecked.

"Point, Erso," she says. "Come on, then."

 

They fall into Mothma's quarters and as soon as the door's closed Mothma's pulling at Jyn's shirt, scraping her nails up over her ribs, pinching one nipple so hard Jyn makes a louder noise than she means to. Her mouth still tastes like blood, and she knows,  _knows_ , something's going on, but whatever's happening is buzzing in her blood now, filling her with it, and she picks Mothma up, carries her over to the bed, pushes her down and pins her like they're sparring.

" _Jyn_ ," Mothma gasps, eyes big and dark, pupils blown, and Jyn grins at her, puts a little more weight in it.

"I've got you," she tells her, "just, let me, okay? I've got you," and tugs Mothma's leggings off, her shirt damp with sweat. Slides down between Mothma's legs, and drags her tongue slow and teasing over Mothma's clit before sinking two fingers in, listening to how she cries out.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Mothma says, her voice shaky and full of wonder, and Jyn smiles a little, grazes her teeth over her, pushes her fingers in deeper. Mothma's thighs are shaking already and she reaches down, grabs Jyn by the hair, arches her hips up into Jyn's mouth. She's loud when she comes, desperate and sobbing, and Jyn pushes her through it, keeps going until Mothma's trembling and wrecked and coming apart at the seams, and only then does Jyn pull away, press an affectionate kiss to the inside of Mothma's thigh, listen to her breathing slowly evening out.

"Better?" she asks, and Mothma tightens her grip on Jyn's hair, drags her up, kisses her hard and messy. Licks her own wetness off Jyn's mouth, and Jyn feels a jolt of arousal so hard she aches with it.

"Yes," Mothma agrees, "better, but _you_ , Jyn Erso, I am going to kick your ass."

"You haven't so far," Jyn counters, and apparently getting cheeky in bed with the leader of the Rebel Alliance _is_ what spurs Mothma to kick her ass, because half an hour later, she's fairly sure the entire rest of the base can hear her despite the fact that they're in a stone fucking temple.

"What do you want," Mothma asks, sounding so calm Jyn can't stand it. "Tell me, Erso."

"Please," she says, grits her teeth. "Please, _fuck_ , please, Mothma, I want to come, I want to  _come_ , please, I-"

"I'm your commander," Mothma murmurs, and pushes another finger into Jyn so slowly that it's _unfair_ , Jyn thinks desperately. "Aren't I, Jyn?"

"Yes," Jyn agrees, "yes, god, Mothma, you are, you can,  _please_ ," and Mothma drags her thumb, finally, over Jyn's clit.

"Come for me, then," she orders, and Jyn comes so hard she thinks she might black out a little.

 

"We lost a mission today," Mothma says, much later, and Jyn stills, waits for it. "A squad I ordered into the Illenium system, to scout for base locations and investigate Empire troop movement. They." She takes a deep breath, pauses, tightens her fingers on Jyn's hip. "They ran into an Empire warship that wasn't supposed to be there. Fifty TIE fighters, and only five X-Wing pilots, and I, I-" She stops again, swallows, and Jyn rolls over, touches the corner of Mothma's eye with her thumb.

"It's a war, Commander," she whispers, and Mothma blinks, chews her lip, looks down.

"I know," she says after a long pause. "And I'm the leader of the rebellion, and...  _Fifty_ TIEs, Jyn, how could they ever have-" She lifts her hand to her mouth, fingers trembling. "Fifty. Lieutenant Bey's the only one who got out. And I  _sent them there_ , and I'd do it again, I know I'd do it again, even knowing what I know, because Bey got out, and we needed the intel, and that means I ordered four of my pilots to their deaths." Her voice cracks into a sob on the last word.

"It's a war," Jyn says again, and Mothma laughs, sounding bitter.

"Yes," she agrees, "and I'm your commander. How long until I send you into a mission you might not escape, Jyn?"

It's a question Jyn can't answer. Except, she thinks,  _soon_.  _Soon, you'll send me into battle, and I'll go for you, Mothma._

 

"Recruit Erso," Mothma says from behind her, and Jyn puts down her glass of spirits, turns around in her chair.

"Ma'am," she says, very neutral. Flicks her gaze to the other soldiers in the entirely unofficial and mostly-secret bar, all looking like they're trying not to be caught looking. Mothma smiles, just a little.

"I came to let you know we'll have to cancel tomorrow's training session," she tells Jyn. "Urgent mission, one I can't miss. I'm leaving base at oh-six-hundred."

"Oh," Jyn says, and tries not to let her disappointment show. "That's fine. I'll, uh. We'll reschedule for when you get back?"

"Yes," Mothma agrees, hesitates slightly. "I wondered if, uh. If you'd care to have a drink."

"With you," Jyn clarifies, and Mothma nods. " _Here_?"

"Well," Mothma says, "actually, I've got a bottle of Chandrilan whisky in my room, if you want to join me, but I suppose we could have a drink here, if you'd rather."

"I'm pretty sure Dameron brews this stuff under his bunk," Jyn tells her honestly, and swallows the last of her glass, screws up her face at the burn. "So, I really wouldn't rather. Whisky sounds great."

"Good," Mothma says, "good, I- okay." Jyn unfolds herself from her chair, looks at Mothma a little curiously. There's a faint flush in her cheeks, and Jyn suddenly wonders if she's embarrassed.

" _Shy_ , Commander?" she whispers as they're walking through the hall, and Mothma ducks her head, laughs a little.

"No, I- yes, okay,  _yes_. Every soldier in that mess was staring at me while pretending like they weren't paying attention at all. If that wouldn't make you blush, Jyn..."

"They're looking because you're our leader," Jyn murmurs. "Who wouldn't look, when you draw attention like you do." They're in the doorway of Mothma's room, and she's fumbling with the lock, but her hands still at that and she looks up at Jyn, leans back against the doorframe.

"Do I?" she asks, sounding honest and surprised, and Jyn can't help herself, steps in closer, brackets Mothma in against the door. Mothma's still looking up at her, her breath a little quicker, and Jyn can see the flush spreading across her cheekbones, her mouth falling open.

"Yes," Jyn whispers, closes the space between their bodies and pauses with her lips barely brushing Mothma's. "You do."

"Oh," Mothma murmurs, and pulls Jyn into the kiss. "We really shouldn't," she says after a moment, breaking away, and kisses her again. "Here in the hallway-"

"Open the door, then," Jyn teases, steps back, watches Mothma blush outright and close her eyes and fumble again, clumsy-fingered, to get the door unlocked. "Am I distracting you, Commander?" she asks when they're inside, and Mothma pauses in pouring the whisky into two glasses, considers the question very seriously.

"Yes," she says eventually, "yes, Erso, you are, you _do_ , but I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I suppose that's alright then," Jyn laughs, accepts the glass, takes a sip and sighs in pleasure at the sweet smoke of the whisky. "So, where's this mission? How long for? Or is that classified military intel?"

"I hardly think you're an Empire spy," Mothma says, rolling her eyes. "It's a trip to the Outer Rim. Gathering resistance movements into the Alliance, building our strength and troop numbers. I'll be back in a month or so. Six weeks, perhaps." Jyn's teeth clink against the edge of her glass, and she lets out a dissatisfied breath.

"Six _weeks_?" she demands, takes Mothma's drink from her and sets down both glasses on the table. "Respectfully, Commander, if you're going to be gone for that long, we've got more important things to do than drinking expensive whisky."

"Is that so," Mothma says, her breath hitching, and Jyn grins sharp and wicked down at her.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, Mothma, that's so," and this time, when she kisses her, it's all teeth and tongue, her hands tangling in Mothma's hair. Mothma gasps into Jyn's mouth, quiet and desperate, tugs at her jacket, shoves it off her shoulders.

"Bed," she suggests, and Jyn nods, lets Mothma unbutton her shirt, kisses a line down Mothma's throat.

"Bed," she agrees, and they hardly make it that far.

 

"They want me to be Chancellor of the Alliance," Mothma says later, drowsy and quiet, her head pillowed on Jyn's shoulder. Jyn frowns a little, strokes her palm down Mothma's side.

"That's like Senator, right?"

"A bit like Senator," Mothma agrees. "More like Commander. Government, not military. Really, what it means is  _leader_. Leader of the Rebel Alliance."

"You're already our leader," Jyn murmurs into Mothma's hair, brushes a kiss to the top of her head. "You're already our Commander. Take the position."

"You think I should?" Mothma asks, draws a spiral on the bare skin of Jyn's belly. Touches the old blaster scar on her ribs, her fingertips light as a caress. 

"Yeah," Jyn says. "Take it, Commander. You can still be a rebel, even if you're in charge." She sits up just enough to reach for the bottle of whisky sitting next to the bed, uncorks it and takes a sip. Passes it to Mothma, watches as she pulls a long swallow and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Okay," Mothma says after a pause. "I'll take it," and as Jyn's drinking another mouthful, Mothma slides her fingers lower down Jyn's stomach, strokes down between her legs, presses her thumb against Jyn's clit. Jyn takes a sharp breath, chokes on the whisky, coughs hard.

"Kriff, woman, are you trying to kill me?" she complains once she has her breath back, and Mothma grins wickedly up at her, slides two fingers into Jyn and rubs her clit teasingly.

"Oh," she says, "should I  _stop_?" and Jyn throws her head back, swallows whisky, closes her eyes.

"No," she says, "don't- don't stop, Chancellor," and Mothma crooks her fingers, bites Jyn's shoulder so hard Jyn finds the ring of teethmarks the next morning. " _Fuck_ ," Jyn hisses, opens her eyes and looks reproachfully at Mothma, "you  _are_ trying to kill me," and Mothma's face is cheeky and teasing and so gorgeous Jyn can't look away.

 

Jyn promised she wouldn't fight, she did, she _did_ , and she's been so good, but it was bound to break sooner or later. She's never been good at following orders, after all.

It's not her that starts it. It's never Jyn that starts it. But the General's drunker than he should be, especially in this mess with lower ranked soldiers overhearing every word he says, and Jyn sits, back straight, listening to it all.

"The Chancellor doesn't have a hope of maintaining power," he sneers, "she was a figurehead in the Senate and she's a figurehead in the Alliance, and if she weren't in bed with Bail Organa she'd have no leadership at all," and Jyn's never been good at much but really, she's  _spectacularly_ good at throwing the first punch.

" _Stand down_ , soldier," someone's yelling when she comes to, and she blinks into Sergeant Dameron's face, takes a deep breath, sits back on her heels. 

"Fuck," she whispers, and he smiles, just a little.

"Yeah," he agrees, "come on, you're gonna catch it in the war room in about fifteen minutes so we're gonna take twelve and clean you up, alright?" He's the one who snaps the cuffs around her wrists, but he's also the one who washes the blood out of her eyes, dabs bacta on her lip, and when Jyn's led into the war room in silent disgrace, she thinks, perhaps she's got another friend, after all.

The war room is a shit show. 

"On your own since you were fifteen," Mothma's saying, and Jyn looks up in shock. She hasn't seen Mothma in two months, didn't know she'd even returned to base, and Mothma's voice is so even, so measured, she doesn't sound like the woman Jyn knows at all. "Aggressive, reckless and undisciplined." It's a damning assessment, and Jyn knows she's not wrong, but her cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment regardless that Mothma's dragging her out in this room full of officers looking at her like she's nothing but a worm.

"This is a rebellion, isn't it," she replies, because she has to say something, and "you can go right to hell" won't help. "I  _rebel_." Mothma smiles at that, just a little, and Jyn's abruptly even more furious that Mothma can still smile like it's their own private joke.

(It is. It always has been.)

"We have a mission for you," Mothma says, and Jyn wants to resent how calm she is, how serene. All she can do is  _miss Mothma_ , fiercely and like an ache in her chest, and in the end she listens without saying a word.

"Is that clear?" the officer asks when Mothma's done, as if Jyn's stupid enough she hasn't understood, and she squares her jaw, stands to attention.

"Yes, _sir_ ," she says, and doesn't look at Mothma at all.

 

Half an hour later, Mothma finds her in the barracks, grabs her by the wrist and drags her into the nearest control room. "Jyn, _please_ ," Mothma says, and Jyn can't hear it, can't listen, glares at her and clenches her fists tight.

"You had  _no right_ ," she snaps, "what I told you, it was  _personal_ , I thought-"

"It's a matter of public record," Mothma says, "your enlistment assessment. I told you to stop fighting, I asked you to promise me that for a  _reason_ , Jyn, I can't get you out of trouble every time. This mission, it was the best option I could sell, they were going to  _court-martial_ you, Jyn. You'd have been dishonorably discharged, left for the Empire to capture you or worse, how long would you have lasted out in the world?"

 _I kept my promise, I did_ , Jyn wants to say,  _I wasn't fighting for me, it was- I went into battle for you, Mothma_. She doesn't say it, bites it back. Perhaps she's too proud, or maybe she just don't want to repeat what it was the General had said. Doesn't want to taste his dirty words in her mouth.

"You were just testing me," Jyn says, "auditioning me for a mission," and Mothma sighs, lets her shoulders fall.

"Of course I was," she murmurs, very quiet. "I'm the leader of the Alliance, and you're my soldier, Jyn. What else could I do."

Jyn has no answer. Looks down at the floor, the scuffed toes of her boots. There's a long moment of silence before Mothma leaves the room.

 

She doesn't see Mothma for two days. 

The mission is urgent, of course, and Jyn spends the vast majority of it frantically preparing, but there are delays upon delays. They can't find a ship, can't calculate the best route to take them in. Sergeant Dameron's assigned to the squad, at least, and he's even busier than she is. Finally she brings him a mug of caf, slides it to him without a word. He rests his hand on her shoulder, looks searchingly at her.

"Talked to your girlfriend yet?"

"She's the leader of the fucking resistance, Kes, she's not exactly my  _girlfriend_."

"She is, though. Be honest."

"No," Jyn says, lets her face show what she's feeling. "I haven't. She's avoiding me."

"You're avoiding her."

"That too."

"Jyn..." Dameron says, pauses. Sips his caf. "Thanks for this. Just how I like it."

"Yeah," Jyn agrees. "I know. Seen Shara?"

"Every chance I get. Told me if I don't die out there, she'll think about marrying me. Like I haven't been asking for the last _year_ , or something. Come on, Jyn, it's a suicide mission, you have to  _talk_ to her."

 

Perhaps Jyn's stupid, or perhaps she's just stubborn, but she doesn't. Maybe, after all, she's just afraid. Afraid of what Mothma might say, or what she might not say. Afraid that if she sees her she'll never be able to walk out the base doors and into a mission that statistically speaking is likely to end in capture and/or death. Just, generally,  _afraid_.

Mothma finds her, in the end, waits until Jyn's about to leave and catches them all in the open ground of the airbase. Dameron nudges Jyn in the ribs, nods in Mothma's direction, and as soon as she sees her Jyn's heart's beating hard.

" _Sorry_ ," she breathes, at the same time as Mothma's saying, very sincere, "I'm so sorry," and they both laugh because they can't cry, pull each other into a hug.

"We'll see each other again, Jyn. I believe that."

"Of course we will," Jyn says, grins very sharp. "You think I'll go off on this mission and get myself killed? You can't get rid of me so quickly, Commander."

"Chancellor, now," Mothma replies. "Some fool told me to take the job and I listened, didn't I."

"Yeah," Jyn says. "Yeah, okay,  _Chancellor_ Mothma. Don't get assassinated while I'm off saving the galaxy, okay."

"Oh," Mothma smirks. "I can take care of myself in a fight. I got lessons from an expert."

"You did," Jyn agrees. "Passed with flying colors. I don't think there's much more I can teach you." Sergeant Dameron clears his throat meaningfully, and Jyn glances to her left, sees the squad ready to leave. "Hey," she murmurs. "I've got to go. This beautiful woman, commander of the Rebel Alliance, she assigned me orders. My time's up. I'll see you when I get back, yeah?"

"Jyn," Mothma says, looks at the squad and lifts her shoulders in a shrug as if she couldn't care less, reaches out to cup Jyn's cheek with her hand. "I'm sorry it couldn't be any other way."

"Hey now," Jyn says, tries to smile. "Mothma. I'll be okay. I'll come back, I will." Mothma laughs, a little shaky, wipes tears away with the back of her hand.

"Yes," she says. "Okay," and pulls Jyn into a kiss, long and soft and sweet.

"There's just one thing," Jyn whispers into her ear when they break apart, and Mothma pulls back, looks at her a little questioningly. "It's just," Jyn says. "I'm going to have to break that promise, Commander. It's _possible_ I might get into a fight while I'm gone. Maybe even two."

"Oh my gods," Mothma laughs, and it's the memory Jyn takes with her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining bright and very, very blue.


End file.
